


Clear

by silvertrumpets (baelished)



Category: Actor RPF, The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Borrowing titles from Viggo’s poetry again, Bottom Viggo :), Fingering, M/M, Masturbation, No Plot, Phone Sex, Pining, just porn, yeehaw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:41:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27406747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baelished/pseuds/silvertrumpets
Summary: Modern fic. Viggo is lonely after a long day at a film festival. He decides to call Sean.
Relationships: Sean Bean/Viggo Mortensen
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	Clear

**Author's Note:**

> I started this a couple weeks ago when Viggo was in France but decided to change it to Denmark because...???? Anyway, I love and miss them and I needed more bottom Viggo in my life so I decided to do it myself.
> 
> Also, I know V has a flip phone but let’s just pretend he knows how to text.

Viggo doesn’t know why he does it. Even as his thumb hovers over the “call” button, he has his doubts. Worry creeps into his senses, and he chews his bottom lip as he thinks. 

They haven’t talked in months, and though they’re on good terms, Viggo’s not one for booty calls. The last time they fucked was, _God,_ 2013? But maybe it’s time to catch up in more ways than one. 

And, Viggo thinks, just hearing Sean’s voice would probably give him enough to go on the rest of the night. 

It’s only an hour time difference between Denmark and England, so it’s not like some of the phone calls they had to make do with years ago, with Viggo in Idaho and Sean at home in London. But Viggo worries about the time anyway, and it’s something short of a miracle that he works up the nerve to finally press “call.”

The phone rings five times, and Viggo very nearly considers hanging up and texting, “sorry, butt dial!” when a gruff voice says, “Viggo?”

“Hi Sean,” he says, surprised at the strength of his own voice despite his nerves. 

“It’s late,” Sean says by way of greeting. 

“I know,” Viggo replies. “I’m sorry. I should have texted first.”

“It’s okay,” Sean tells him, and that settles the pounding of Viggo’s heart just a little bit. “What’s going on? How are you, mate?” 

“Nothing. I mean, I missed you. I’m in Denmark right now for a film festival, and there’s nothing to do in my hotel room, and…”

“And you thought ‘Hey, I bet Bean has nothing to do on a Saturday night?’” Viggo can hear the familiar tease in his voice, can tell he’s talking through a smile. It makes his pulse quicken. “Nah, I meant: how _are_ you?”

“I’m okay. Making it work.” This was a bad idea, Viggo is pretty sure. He’s casually slipped his hand down to ghost over the bulge in his jeans, is now touching it gently to the sound of Sean’s voice. Maybe it’s deceitful, but if he can keep quiet, Sean will be none the wiser and he can jack off to completion as soon as they end the call. 

“By prancing around at film festivals?” Sean laughs, a deep, clear laugh that makes Viggo’s cock jump. 

“I’m very careful,” Viggo retorts. “How are you, Sean?”

“Oh, I’m doing fine. Making it work too, I suppose. It was good to see you at the reunion, by the way. Meant to text you afterwards.”

Viggo had meant to text Sean too, but he was too busy musing on old times, which led to jerking off, which led to sitting up all night unsure if he would have the strength left in his arms to pick up his phone and send a text. 

“Sean,” Viggo blurts out. “Would you ever want to...I mean, would you consider...oh, nevermind.”

“What?” asks Sean. “Tell me. C’mon, Vig.”

“Could it ever be like it was? With us?” Viggo’s hand stills on his cock, which is getting hard thanks to the deep tones of Sean’s voice and his own ministrations. 

Silence. Then, uncontrollable laughter. “Viggo Mortensen, did you ring me for a booty call?” 

“Um,” says Viggo, searching for a response. 

“You are so busted! I fucking caught you, you little bastard!” Sean is cracking up, his voice wavering in and out on the phone; he must be stifling his laughs with his hand. 

“For your information, I _have_ been wanting to reach out,” Viggo says. He’s smiling, trying to hold back his own laughter. God, he’s missed this man. “But yes, I was bored and lonely in this hotel room and I was really missing your fucking cock, okay?” 

“I wonder what it’s like to fuck you now,” Sean muses. His voice is silk, smooth over the edges of his accent. “Old man.”

“We are the _same age_ ,” Viggo retorts. He has the bright idea to turn the phone on speaker and toss it somewhere on the bed beside his head. Then his hand is back on his jeans, gripping his cock. He arches up into his touch, careful not to go too far until Sean gives him the go-ahead. 

“Your pubes all gray, Vig? Can you still get your legs up over my shoulders, d’ya think? I wondered, watching you in _Green Book_. Looked so old, Vig. It drives me crazy, watching you in movies. I sit there and I think: Hey, I fucked that ass. I _owned_ that ass.”

“Fuuuuck.” Viggo wouldn’t have thought he liked being berated about his age, especially from a man his contemporary, but as long as Sean keeps talking, he doesn’t care what Sean says. He’s hard now, his cock straining against the fabric of the jeans. 

“Are you touching yourself, sweetheart?” Sean asks, all sweet and doting. 

“Yeah,” says Viggo. “Your voice makes me hard.”

“I know,” Sean says, and there’s that smile in his voice again. Viggo’s body tenses at his smugness, his playfulness. Sean always knew how to get him, of _course_ he still does. “You have your pants off?”

“Not yet,” Viggo says. 

“Fucking take them off, then,” orders Sean, and Viggo unzips them immediately and pulls them down and off. “Underwear too.” He obeys, exposing his cock to the fresh air. He wraps his hand around it, moaning at the touch. 

“Oh, that’s a pretty sound,” Sean tells him. “I want you to be loud. Let the hotel know what kind of slut they have staying there.”

Viggo thrusts up into his hand at that. Images of Sean flash in quick succession in his mind: Sean slamming him against a wall and calling him a nasty whore; Sean kissing him as he fingers his ass, telling him he’s beautiful; Sean fucking him doggy-style on a rented bed in New York, asking Viggo to scream his name at the top of his lungs. 

Viggo always does whatever Sean asks. 

So he lets himself moan, hand fisted around his cock, pumping pre-cum along its length. He envisions Sean here with him, watching him touch himself, an eyebrow raised in stark dominance. He whines at that picture, tossing his head back and closing his eyes. 

“That’s it,” Sean urges. “So pretty.” 

Viggo hears the distinct sound of a zipper being undone, the rustling of clothing, and then the unmistakable sound of spitting, followed by a series of rhythmic lewd squelching noises. He groans. “Fuck,” he says, unable to think of anything better. His cock twitches at the noises coming from the phone. 

“Still make me hard, Viggo,” Sean tells him. “Still make my cock— _fuck_ —leak everywhere.”

“Fuck me,” Viggo begs. 

“Hah,” says Sean. “You bring lube with you on your little film fest escapade?”

Viggo stops stroking himself for a moment. “Sean, I did not bring lube to a film festival.” He laughs, but as the realization dawns of what Sean wants him to do, he sighs shakily and resumes pumping his cock. 

“Pity,” Sean replies. “Guess you’re gonna have to use spit then.”

“Oh, Sean–” Viggo starts. 

“Don’t argue with me,” Sean says, even though Viggo wasn’t going to. “You can’t very well imagine my cock in you unless you’re fucking yourself.” 

Viggo can hear him pick up the pace on his strokes. They’re faster, more controlled. Viggo thinks of Sean’s cock, thick and fat, the foreskin sliding up and down as Sean fists it, and his ass clenches on instinct. He lets out a little moan, then lifts his fingers to his mouth and spits, loud enough that Sean can hear. He smears it on the tips of his fingers. 

“Good,” Sean praises. “Come on now, Vig, lemme hear you open up that arse. One finger now, ease into it.”

Viggo traces his middle finger around the ring of his asshole, then dips it inside. It stretches, resists, stretches, and finally accepts him. 

“Ohhhh,” moans Viggo. He hasn’t been fucked in a while, hasn’t played with himself like this in ages either. The stretch is so good, that dirty mix of pain that reminds him he loves this, deserves this. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” says Sean, sighing breathily into the phone. “You tight, Vig? Your arsehole still fucking tight, hm?”

“ _So_ fucking tight,” Viggo manages to groan out. “Oh, Sean, I need your cock in me.”

“Oh _do_ you, now?” Sean says, mocking. He laughs. “Why haven’t you rang me up, then? Do you even know how hard you’re making me, lying there with a finger up your arse? Still a fucking slut for me, Viggo. If you were here I’d throw you on the ground, fuck you on all fours, bite your neck. Slam my cock into you ‘til you’re crying. You were always such a pretty crier, Vig.”

Vig whines and moans, thrashes against his own finger. “Please, Sean.”

Sean speeds up his fist again, and Viggo can hear his shaft sliding up and down, can hear the breathy groans from Sean’s throat. “Put another finger in,” Sean says. 

Viggo obeys, but it’s not easy work. His ass resists him still, but the spit he’d smeared around the rim makes the burn more of a dull pain. He lets out a stiff whine as he forces a second finger in, resting carefully beside the first. 

“How does it feel, Vig?” Sean asks, his voice low and gravelly. 

“Tight,” replies Viggo. He reminds himself to breathe, to get oxygen in his lungs. His cock, which had softened slightly with the effort focused on his ass, stirs again, twitching in midair. He gives it a short stroke with his other hand, then resumes full attention to his ass. 

“Gimme more than that, come on,” Sean demands. “How do _you_ feel?” He makes a spitting sound, and Viggo supposes it’s to slick along his cock. He finds himself immensely jealous; _he_ should be playing with Sean’s cock. 

“So good,” Viggo tells him, hypersensitive of the spread of his hole. “Tight, but not too tight. Not tight like your cock would be. It’s been so long, my body...so aware, so alert, so... _fuck_ , on edge.”

“Is this what you wanted when you rang me?” asks Sean. 

“Yes,” Viggo says, “Oh God, oh God, _yes_.”

“Bought one of those silicone arse toys,” says Sean randomly. “Good fun, but not as tight as your little hole. Go on, fuck yourself. Get nice and loose for me, Vig.”

Viggo’s body clenches, his hole threatening to shove his fingers out, but he holds on. He grunts and whines, adjusting his legs so they’re bent with his feet flat on the mattress, then pushes his fingers in and out of himself. It stings without lube, without Sean there to hold him and touch him and—

“That’s it, baby, come on. Come on. God, how I want to fuck you.”

Viggo wails as the tips of his fingers brush against his prostate. He sees stars bursting behind his eyelids, images of Sean gripping him, railing him, pounding him. “Sean…” he whines, bucking his hips up, jostling his leaking cock as it searches for purchase. 

“You deserve my cock, Viggo,” Sean muses. “You always have, just like you’ve always been a slut. My slut, yeah? God, what I wouldn’t give to have my cock in you again. I’ll fuck you so good, pull your hair the way you like it, let you bounce back on my cock, make you come all over yourself, _fuck._ ”

“Fuck yes,” Viggo moans, voice catching in his throat. Sweat drips down his temple, collects on his chest, but he ignores it, focuses on fucking himself into oblivion to the sound of Sean’s voice and the echoes of his hand on his cock. “Fuck me, Sean, please fuck me.”

“Oh, I fucking will,” laughs Sean. “I’d hop on a plane right now if I could. But for now, you’re gonna have to make yourself come. Can you do that for me, Vig?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Viggo says, thrusting his fingers against his prostate, gasping at the pressure and pleasure he finds from fucking himself the way Sean would, hard and dirty and rough. His moves are erratic, but they do the job. His body jerks and pulses, his cock throbbing with need, his balls heavy with anticipation. He whines, Sean’s name heaven on his tongue. 

“Then fucking _come._ ”

Viggo grasps his cock with his other hand as he fucks into himself, gives it a couple quick, tight strokes and then he’s coming, yelling Sean’s name, toes curling, cum splattering over his hand, onto his belly. For a moment, his brain is nothing other than addled pleasure and bliss, his breath stuck heavy in his throat as he tries to catch it. 

But his ears prick to the sounds of Sean coming on the other end of the phone—the rapid pumping of his hand lessening in intensity, replaced by a loud groan, a gasp, and his breathy accent saying “Viggo” over and over. Viggo’s whole body spasms electric with aftershocks at what he’s hearing, and he closes his eyes in contentment. 

After a moment, Sean brings Viggo back with his gentle, deep voice. “Vig?” he asks, and Viggo would melt if he could. 

“Yeah, Sean?” 

“Thanks for ringing. That was fun. Let’s do it again sometime.”

“In person?” Viggo asks. 

“Yes, in person,” Sean tells him. “As soon as we can. Keep that ass ready for me. Don’t forget to clean up.”

There’s silence for a few seconds, and Viggo worries Sean has hung up. “Sean?” he asks cautiously. 

“Mm?” comes Sean’s low hum. 

“I still love you,” says Viggo, without thinking, without really knowing why he says it. But it feels right. Felt right before the phone call, too. Always has. 

“I love you too, Vig.”

Viggo smiles at that, a peace coming over him. This is what the last few years have been missing, what he’s been missing. 

“Sleep well, Sean,” 

Viggo can hear Sean smile around his words again.”G’night, Vig.”

And it certainly is the best night Viggo can remember in a long time. 


End file.
